Black Magic Rose Chapter 8
byChapter 8: Echoes of the Past
The sensation of intertwined fingers, like a stone dropped into a calm lake, left ripples that lingered long after.
For Shu Yijin, it was a successful probe, confirming the immense effectiveness of intimate contact in loosening the Seal. But Wen Jingheng’s near-instinctive, dependent response felt like a fine thread wrapping around his previously clear and cold plan, bringing an unfamiliar sense of stagnation. He needed to understand this “key” better—the nature of the Seal and the peculiar energy feedback.
The opportunity arose one afternoon. Outside, the sky was overcast, brewing a late summer thunderstorm. The air was hot and sticky, making even the light in the room feel heavy. Shu Yijin had just finished Wen Jingheng’s routine physical massage, fine beads of sweat dotting his forehead—this time, it wasn’t entirely an act. Controlling the subtle flow of divine power for an extended period was a burden on this body, which was still unfamiliar to him.
He sat by the bed, not immediately proceeding to the next step. His gaze rested on Wen Jingheng’s peaceful sleeping face. If those perpetually closed eyes were to open, how sharp would they be? What kind of history was contained within the man who had once Sealed him, forging such an unyielding will?
A thought quietly surfaced: If physical contact could resonate with the Seal, could a deeper level of energy contact glimpse the foundation upon which the Seal was built—certain imprints deep within Wen Jingheng’s soul? This might help him find a more efficient way to break the Seal, and perhaps… satisfy his growing curiosity about this “mortal enemy.”
“The weather is quite stifling today,” he murmured, sounding like he was talking to himself yet also explaining to Wen Jingheng. His voice carried a hint of tired hoarseness. “I’ll stay with you a little longer.”
He adjusted his posture, choosing not to use the overly intimate method of intertwined fingers. Instead, he slowly placed his palm against the area of Wen Jingheng’s lower back. This was one of the energy centers and the region where he had sensed the strongest Seal fluctuations during the last massage.
Initially, everything was normal. His palm felt the warmth of Wen Jingheng’s body and the steady heartbeat beneath. Shu Yijin focused his mind, extending a thread of extremely subtle divine power like a tendril, cautiously probing the invisible barrier of the Seal.
Buzz—
The familiar resonance arrived, deeper than during the handshake, like striking an ancient bell buried deep underground. Correspondingly, a gentle warm current flowed out from Wen Jingheng’s body, slowly seeping into Shu Yijin’s meridians through the point of contact.
This time, Shu Yijin did not erect his usual mental defenses to block it. He deliberately guided his consciousness, like boarding a small boat, following this warm current upstream toward its source—the depths of Wen Jingheng’s dormant consciousness. He wasn’t trying to force entry, merely to approach the dark shore and glimpse the scenery at its edge.
However, just as the tendril of his consciousness was about to touch the boundary of that darkness, an abrupt change occurred!
As if an invisible switch had been flipped, the previously calm warm current suddenly surged. It was no longer gentle nourishment but transformed into a massive, chaotic torrent of information, carrying a powerful impact. Following the newly established energy connection, it violently swept Shu Yijin’s consciousness away!
The scene before his eyes changed instantly:
*A cold metal chair, blinding shadowless lamps, the sticky feel of electrodes on his skin. The young boy bit down on his lower lip, tasting blood. His dark eyes reflected the expressionless adults in white coats looking down at him. There was no comfort, only the cold sound of data being recorded and the uncontrollable, agonizing spasms of his body. A profound fear and loneliness of being stripped of his humanity and reduced to an experimental subject, like ice water drowning his breath.
*A long, empty dining table, exquisite food like wax figures. The man and woman at the head of the table were impeccably dressed, yet their eyes never truly landed on him. The occasional glance was like assessing the wear and tear on a tool. He ate quietly, his knife and fork making no unnecessary sound, yet he felt like a transparent ghost, performing alone on the luxurious stage called “family.”
*A dark storage room, holding the only faint, fuzzy warmth in his arms. Outside, the butler’s voice was absolute. He buried his face in the kitten’s still soft but already cold fur, allowing himself to weep silently for the first and last time. When the light flooded in and the embrace was forcibly emptied, something deep within his heart completely solidified and froze.
…
Countless fragmented images, sounds, and sharp emotions—training that exceeded all limits, “glory” displayed as a bargaining chip, talking to an empty room late at night, the yearning for a shred of genuine warmth and the repeated disillusionment… These memory fragments were not an orderly scroll but shrapnel from an explosion, embedding themselves violently into Shu Yijin’s consciousness with tremendous force!
“Ugh!” Shu Yijin let out a suppressed groan. The hand pressed against Wen Jingheng’s back jerked, instinctively trying to withdraw, but he was momentarily trapped by the torrent of information. Cold sweat instantly beaded on his forehead, and his face paled slightly.
He saw a Wen Jingheng stripped of all emotional warmth. There was no spotlight, no Savior’s glory, only a soul struggling to grow in an extremely harsh, emotionally barren environment. Beneath that future cold and powerful exterior was a heart already riddled with holes from countless disappointments and manipulations, coupled with a deep, almost instinctive yearning for “pure acceptance.”
The impact of these memories far surpassed what he had experienced observing the Shu Family farce. This was a more primal, sharper Shared Sensation, pointing to the shared, fundamental experiences of loneliness, fear, and survival at the beginning of life. Even for an Ancient Existence like Shu Yijin, the vivid, specific pain belonging to an “individual” carried an undeniable weight.
He forcibly severed the energy connection, stumbling backward into the armchair. His chest rose and fell slightly, and a rare, undisguised shock flashed in his crimson eyes. He needed time to process this forcibly intruded information torrent, to recalibrate his understanding of the “mortal enemy” on the bed.
The previously symbolic “enemy” had been forcibly injected with details of flesh, pain, and vulnerability. This feeling… was very strange.
Shu Yijin performed the subsequent wiping and tidying work in relative silence. His movements were still gentle, but they lacked some of the deliberate performance, replaced by a distraction he didn’t even notice himself. When he took Wen Jingheng’s hand again for the daily fixed “contact therapy,” the slight coolness at his fingertips seemed to have softened somewhat.
He looked down at their clasped hands, speechless for a moment. Outside, the long-brewing thunderstorm finally poured down. The rushing sound of the rain filled the room, emphasizing a strange silence within.
“So…” After a long pause, Shu Yijin spoke very softly, his voice almost swallowed by the rain, carrying a hint of complexity he hadn’t even realized. “You weren’t born on the clouds either.”
The sentence was light, without any specific purpose, merely a natural outpouring of a ripple in the depths of his consciousness. It dissipated into the sound of the rain, yet it seemed to quietly open a tiny crack for something within this dim room.